


Stillness, and the Universe Twitched

by Angelwire



Series: From Artifice [8]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: Arguing, Deja Vu, F/F, Gen, Guilt, Holding Hands, Psychological Trauma, Trans Female Character, yadda yadda yadda i suck at tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 01:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21153404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelwire/pseuds/Angelwire
Summary: Glitches. Hiccups. Bumps. One path, then another, all so abrupt. Did you really recognize it? Maybe this is just some sort of sudden, acute psychosis. You almost would prefer that.But perhaps not if she's here.





	1. Chapter 1

_Oh quiet down_, you think to yourself, scowling mentally at the man whose body you're currently hijacking, the dim light of awareness that seems oh so worried at how you've stopped him by such a commotion. _Do as you're told._

He has no choice but to obey, of course. You're in control here. And since you're shielded perfectly beneath another person's face, you decided that you wanted to see what was going on here, what stirs at the scene where you discarded her like a spent tool. How callous. Is that guilt you feel over it? How much do you really care? It's a little disconcerting that you can't tell at the moment, but circumstances now force you to turn away from your introspection. Marshall Steel and the LDPD at each others' throats? This, you _have_ to see.

"No, I don't care what Mayor Alvarez has to say. You don't have the jurisdiction here." Ah, Steel. You always liked his voice, somehow, even if it was as rough and cold as the man himself. It was a bit nostalgic to hear again.

"She rampaged through the Citadel Mall," the sergeant retorts ever so bravely. Too bad you couldn't correct him on just who it was rampaging here. "And that is after the mess she caused on the way there."

"It is still not your jurisdiction."

"Listen," oh he's laying hands on _Steel_ is he? Exciting. "If you can't even control your own people, we-"

"_We_ are the ones who will deal with this," Steel cuts him off, gingerly removing the man's hand as if it wouldn't be the slightest effort to crush it instead. "Whatever caused Lady Argent to run amok, it is our business. Not yours."

What a delicious little altercation. Although, was it worth you stopping in here like this and delaying the retrieval of your little present? Perhaps not. Probably not, even. The possibilities were endless for sure, but how much was it worth to sow the seeds of discord here? Not that you cared about that. The moral implications. Not that it would ever matter. Not that that's the sort of person you are, soulless and blackened and monstrous as you are now. You couldn't have done anything different, could you have?

Of course not. So why don't you just--

* * *

A familiar wall of stagnant, unpleasantly hot air enveloped you yet again as you stepped out onto the sidewalk. This would have to be fast. Your footsteps carry you down the street in the direction of the carnage, such as it was, of your earlier rampage. Argent's. A silent prayer repeated in your head over and over again, a prayer that the present you left for yourself hadn't been discovered. That this hadn't been all for nothing. That you hadn't fucking just violated another woman's bodily autonomy for _nothing_. Just the thought of having visited that on another person brought the nausea back to your stomach, and not in remembrance of your earlier illness, either.

You had no choice. You had no alternative if you were really going to go through with your revenge. Easy enough to repeat to yourself, but that doesn't get rid of the reality of this situation, or the guilt at what you did to her. So what if you didn't know Argent personally? After riding in that body, experiencing the pain she must have been feeling, even at the lightest touches... well, you couldn't stop yourself from empathizing then. And you couldn't stop yourself from feeling as if you'd committed a grave mistake. A _sin_.

But that didn't stop you from heading off to profit from it. Eventually, you come to pass a part of the city very immediately familiar to you, a scene now filled with gawking onlookers. Seemed like the LDPD was trying to get on Marshall Steel's case here. Thankfully it was just him, though. No other Rangers. What would you have done if Orte- if Charge had been here? Right now? What if she saw you? No one else was privy to what your face looked like, but she _was_. And she wouldn't fail to recognize you, right? Even if you were just a fling, even if she'd certainly moved on by now... yes, you had to believe she could recognize you.

But speaking of recognition, why did this seem so god damn familiar? You find yourself stopping in your tracks, looking on at the scene as if you were any other random passerby. What was so familiar about this?

"No, I don't care what Mayor Alvarez has to say," came Steel's voice, amplifying your sense of déjà vu even further. "You don't have the jurisdiction here."

What the hell? You could swear you'd heard him say those exact words _somewhere_ before, but no other situation like this surfaced in your memories. Plenty of other times he - and you with him - had interacted with the police, but nothing exactly like this. And yet you knew you'd seen this, heard this before.

They were continuing to argue, but your attention wasn't on any of that now. Argent was there. Just... lying there. Asleep. _Discarded_, like a spent tool, utterly dehumanized. You're the one who put her there, too. What right did you have to feel bad for her now? What, were you gonna try to make it up? Not a chance. She'd tear your throat out if you gave her the slightest indication of what sin you'd committed against her. Then again, that's probably exactly what you'd deserve. Ultimately, you didn't want to abandon your crusade, but after you'd finished everything, maybe you wouldn't mind Argent having her way with you. A fitting end. Penance. You could die with a bit less guilt then.

For now, just retrieve the damn box.


	2. Chapter 2

They think they're so clever, don't they, reducing themselves into little thought-voids to try and avoid you. _You_, hah! No no no, they're still there alright, still palpable; even if you can't get through the shielding to do anything more subtle, you're still far too good for them. Four are inside, engaging with Psychopathor. One is outside. Sentry, most likely an amped sensory unit, most likely a sniper. Even as you're leaving the safety of your cover, that one little void is pinging at the back of your mind, an irritant, a reminder. You don't like leaving that up.

You don't have to. You can do this. Who the hell do they think they are, comparatively? Future fodder for your revenge, nothing more. This one will be fodder for the animosity you have yet stored up. It'll be nice to just completely let loose on some...thing. (_you can say that youre different stop thinking that its wrong_)

Press down. Crush it. Throw the weight of everything you want down onto its fragile little brain. The display of psychic dominance gives you a bit of a rush as you feel its effects, the sheer torrent of pain and data unable to be coped with, and the sentry collapses. Good, good good good that's GOOD and you don't feel like it's wrong at all. To see it. Happen.

It should have been good.

Yes, this was a risk, but now you can get in without worrying about getting shot at. Yes, you let yourself go there, but why does that matter? What, are you starting to care now? You don't care about that thing _because that's not you_ you don't _but what if this isn't you either_ you don't at all.

What the hell is going on? What feels so obscenely incorrect about this scenario?

* * *

Somehow, you find yourself running. Somehow, you think to what you're running from, and you're hit with the sudden realization that there's at least one enemy who's already spotted you. Did you really just dive into this unthinkingly? It seems like your assumption _what assumption when did I make one of those_ was correct, they've mistaken you for one of the Wolfpack. You're able to reach your destination unscathed. Now things could really get started. Not that you were necessarily excited for it, at least not entirely. It was dreadful, if anything. The adrenaline signalling what's to come, pulling you back into memories of the last time you did this, the wisp of the woman you were with back then... Again, you curse yourself internally.

Damn it, Serra. Why let that name back in again?

The battle inside the warehouse is intensifying it seems. Each flash of sickly green radiance poses another reminder of your goal, your impending involvement in that carnage. And what else? The Wolfpack are starting to become afraid too. Rosie was hired by them, right? Was she here? Taking another precious pair of moments to search, you manage to pick out that familiar mental presence, and you don't like what you feel. That makes it worse. You can't just let Rosie get taken out in a place like this, you _need_ her. On more than just a practical level.

Christ. Time to make sure she's alright.


	3. Chapter 3

You never would have visited a place like this back then. No, she had _standards_, and those standards apparently included not even giving you an opportunity for a smoke break. Ortega always hated you smoking. For some reason. She didn't seem to hate it from anyone else, and she didn't display overt disgust at the smoke itself - it was just you. Was that out of some strange desire to keep you safe? What a joke. Ortega, never respecting your boundaries, never thinking twice before inserting herself somewhere she wasn't wanted. At least it gave you a friend, for that brief time the world deigned to let you live your life normally.

You sigh. Too late for that. For any of that. Too late to take the name back, but you don't want to anyways. You don't need it, you don't need _her_. Certainly don't need her babying you, acting like a little cigarette is gonna kill you. Okay it will eventually but what do you care.

No use in stepping inside just yet, at any rate. You could get a table whenever. Better to get your smoke out of the way first. They had one of those ashtrays well out of the way of the front door, kept separate, that was good for you. It gave you space to think about things, and boy were there things to think about right now.

The déjà vu had just been getting more frequent now. Your constant efforts to ignore it did nothing, and investigation was just as fruitless as anything. Nothing ever seemed outright wrong. Except in your head, that is. And what about all those times you were blanking out? Not just staring off into space uselessly, but... well, finding yourself somewhere else, having done something you don't remember, it unsettled you every time. Was your mental health really _this_ shaky? Could that be possible, could it be an actual issue here? With you? No, you shouldn't have let that been the case. Look at how strong you were now. You were better than ever before, especially with no fake friends to tie you down and make you think you were safe and take your cigarettes away god _damn_ it Ortega.

Take another drag of it. Breathe. Stand here, in this moment.

Was anything wrong?

Was anything-

"Serra?"

Breath and smoke caught in your throat. You nearly coughed. A twinge of guilt coursed your nerves, into your stomach, and you almost fell back into old habits telling you to drop the cigarette before she caught you with it in your hands. No way. This couldn't be happening. That could _not_ be her voice.

Turn. Look. See her and it _is_ her, holy shit, no, no no no how did this happen? How? She never should have come to a place like this that wasn't her _thing_, where were her standards? No, she found you out. She found you. She knows. You're going back. She's going to take you she's going to betray you like back then no please please please-

"Is that really you, Serra?"

Ortega sounds so surprised. Why? Was this actually a coincidence? Were you safe? You were never safe while she was around. Play it the right way from here.

"Ortega?" you ask, somehow managing to find the name and bring it out. "I- uh- wow, christ, um..."

Her eyes flit to your hand. What's _in_ your hand. "And you still smoke?"

"I..."

This was wrong. _Again_, it was wrong. You shouldn't be here like this. Ortega shouldn't see you, like _this_, dear christ... The smoldering little thing between your fingers somehow felt like it weighed a ton and a half, on your muscles and on the shame you felt in front of this woman.

Close your eyes. Shut it out. This can't really be happening, it can't, it can't-

* * *

"I can't believe it! Serra? Is that really you?"

You jolt from whatever reverie held you in such tight grip, your surroundings almost seeming to melt into place around you. For a moment you can't remember where you are. Soon, though, the memories of walking in and getting a table weasel back to the forefront of your consciousness. Okay, so you _did_ definitely come in here... and apparently you were staring off into space soon after taking one bite of cake.

Who the hell was calling your name, though? You hadn't sensed... well, anyone, but certainly no one approaching you, wanting to talk to you. Just because you were spacing out? Your head cranes instinctively to face the voice, that commandingly _familiar_ voice, the voice that put a warmth to your stomach, and- and-

Ortega is here. Looking at you.

You weren't expecting this.

But it somehow feels right this time.

Wait, _this time_?

"I can't believe it! It really is you - you're alive!"

A flush of heat rises, colors your cheeks what had to be a blatant, furious red as she takes a seat across from you. It's Ortega, and she sounds so excited to see you, and you feel _good_ for that. Some part of you screams that you shouldn't. Some part urges you to remember how horrible this potentially is, how strange it is that she run into you in a place like this, how you shouldn't want to embrace this _or embrace her rather embrace her and don't let go_ the way you do. That part of you is incredibly tiny compared to the rest you awakened, back when you called yourself Serra again.

"Ortega... you're really here," you breathe out, not daring to break this eye contact you've fallen into with her. "How long has it been? A decade, now?"

"Seven years," she corrects. And her face, that deathly seriousness, like she counted every single second of your absence. It makes your insides twist again. Good or bad, you can't immediately tell, but every little thing she says, every look she gives you, impacts your body and heart without question.

The stare keeps up. You can't find words. You want to say something, _anything_ to this woman, but you can't get them out. Thankfully, Julia's not lost her old touch, and the tiny smirk that draws across her lips reminds you of better days, even with its restraint, even with that sharp look in her eyes. But the smirk vanishes again as soon as it appeared.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," remarks Julia. It sounds like she would have chuckled a bit as she said it, but not this time.

That brings a bit of freedom to your throat. A thin, brittle smile breaks through. "You and me both."

"I thought you were dead." God. Her voice. Did she just tremble? "I mean... they said you were dead, but obviously you are not..." she swallows. She hesitates. It looks like she wants to say more, to pour it out like she used to, but something's stopping her. You imagine you probably look as if you're about to bolt at the first contact given, or maybe you'll disappear altogether like the ghost you are, so Julia doesn't say any of that. Yet. Instead, "Are you alright?"

"I am... alive, at any rate," you evade on instinct. "I'm good enough to go out and order myself a way-too-expensive chocolate cake in the middle of the day. Is that what you mean?" Where's this coming from?

"Well, I just- Back then- I thought it was a given. That you wouldn't have..."

"Survived." Too harsh. Don't talk to her like that.

"Yeah."

A brief, morbid chuckle rises in your throat. "Wouldn't have been surprised if I didn't." _Wish I didn't_, you almost add. Actually, you're surprised you manage to keep it held back at all.

"Don't say that," Julia chastises you softly, just the way she used to. Perhaps even more tenderly. She's pushing the knife in deeper - is it on purpose? Does she want you to suffer now? For all you know, she has another boyfriend, and she's gonna rub it in but why would that bother you, it wouldn't, it couldn't, because that would mean- what are you even _thinking_ about right now? What are you wishing for? Don't admit that. Not to her, not to yourself. Don't think just because coincidence brought you two together again, you have any right to wish for _that_. You don't deserve it.

She continues, "So, ah, I don't suppose you ever... Well, there was an explosion. That day. Knocked me out cold, so it was Steel who made the call. I tried to look for you, believe me, but you were nowhere to be found, and the... the nurses, the medical staff... Steel told me you died. En route to a hospital." _Steel_ said that? So it wasn't her, it was him? "Guess he was mistaken on that one."

"You didn't even look for a body?" you can't help but ask. Bitter. Maybe she'll read into that bitterness. Maybe she'll know just one little piece more.

"I did! Trust me, Serra, I did. They told me you'd been cremated. They told me they were worried about a chemical agent of some kind."

Of course they'd say that. And she just bought it hook line and sinker. But what choice did she have, really? No, it's not the right decision to feel bitter over what she did or didn't do. Sighing, you have to admit to yourself Ortega wasn't at fault back then. _Someone_ was, though.

Julia's looking at you. You can't help but crave it. The way her hand twitches, inches forward, you don't need to be able to read her mind to know what she's wanting to do. Your own hand is on the table. You don't move it. The muscles urge you to pull back and keep yourself safe but something lets you resist it, and you don't move.

She reaches forward and lays her hand on yours.

You shiver.

"Where have you been all these years?" she wonders of you, breaks your heart into pieces, and the fingers pull over your skin to emphasize your contact. You shiver again.

Ultimately, this was the truest essence of your life, wasn't it. A constant split between the instincts trying to keep your heart safe, and the instincts that desperately yearn to have Julia Ortega's warmth and love again. And you didn't deserve that if you weren't honest with her. You didn't deserve it at all but you _definitely_ didn't if you were even more of a liar than you already were, lying to her by existing... presenting like you do. Like you're a real woman. You hate how it feels to be living a lie like this. Really, if you were given a guarantee that it'd all work out if you did it, you wouldn't hesitate to give Julia everything she wanted. But you didn't have that guarantee. You had nothing but the one prior experience. The one lost friend. The one you left behind because you couldn't stand the way she looked at you, moments before you made her forget your words. Thinking back to that made you sick.

"Listen..." your lips form the words of their own accord, vulnerability winning out. "You know how I always said I couldn't join the Rangers? And I got so awkward when you talked about it? And you know how I always kept my mask on in public, and never let anyone see, not even Steel even though I knew he'd probably trust me more if I did? You were the only one I let see my face, Julia."

"Serra? What are you saying?"

"I- I had enemies." A pause. "_Have_ enemies, I guess. And they were waiting for me. Waiting for their chance. I wasn't careful enough, I- I didn't keep myself hidden, and they somehow _knew_, and- and that was it. I survived and they were there waiting for me, because they knew they'd get me eventually if they were just patient. I couldn't stop them, not in the state I was in, so they strapped me down and fucking drugged me up and took me to one of their fucking facilities and-"

Fuck. You're shaking. Your throat won't open again. You're shaking and you can feel tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, as much as you will them to disappear, so Ortega gets to see how weak you are now. Yet, instead of scorning you for that, she wants to pull you in closer, grips your hand like both of your lives depended on it. Was this really safe? Did you say too much? Letting her in felt dangerous but it felt good, way too good, and so did the warmth and pressure on the back of your hand.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you let me help you? We would have been there for you, kept you safe. _I_ would have."

"I know. I messed up. I shouldn't have kept things from you, Julia... I'm sorry."

"Are you still in trouble?" her eyes narrow. "You said you _have_ enemies. That means they're still out there. I'm not letting the same thing happen to you again now that I know."

You can't help but smile, very genuinely, at her display of protectiveness. Oh, obviously it's of no use now, completely misplaced even, but the sentiment warms your heart all the same. Gives you another thing to cling to late at night when you're all alone. Ortega cares about you enough to feel this way, even after seven years - that's gotta count for something.

"That's really sweet of you," you say. "And no, I'm... I think I'm safe for now. Laying low."

Ortega doesn't respond immediately. Now that you've calmed down a little and stopped yourself from almost-crying, you're meeting her gaze again, and there's something else in there. It's enough to put you on edge again until it drains out of her face in a drawn-out sigh.

"Well, I'm glad you're okay now, at least, but I wish you'd sent me a message, gave me _some_ sort of indication you were still alive. I thought you were _dead_, Serra. I've spent the last seven years thinking that I was to blame for my- for your death. Why would you just leave me in the dark like that?"

Your face drops. "Once I escaped their... their _care_," you cringe, disgusted to apply such a word to what they did to you, disgusted with the vulnerability (but she's looking at you softly again, and it makes you feel better), "I was terrified, Julia. We're talking about a group of people with the means and inclination to whisk me away from the interior of an ambulance and fake my death. I thought I'd been cautious enough before, but they proved me wrong. I was terrified of somehow slipping up the same way, whatever way that was. What was I supposed to do? Go right back to you? There's no way they weren't expecting that. It wasn't safe. And- and I can't go back there, I _can't_."

"I _understand_ that, but we would have protected you, Serra!"

"You would have been risking your lives! How could I do that to you?!"

"We are the Rangers," Ortega responds, dropping her voice. "That's what we do. You think I wouldn't risk my life for you?"

God, you can't keep it up. You avert your eyes again. She's too intense, too eager, too earnest. She's taking your hand up in hers now, leaving the table's surface, and your heart skips a beat. What did you do to deserve this? This pain? Ortega wouldn't be saying this if she knew who you are. _What_ you are. It's not just that you weren't safe; you couldn't trust them with this. You can not. Trust. Ortega.

You finally pull your hand back, and she reacts as if you'd struck her.

"Why would I ever want you to risk your life for me? Huh? Maybe I wanted to be able to protect _you_ for once, Julia. Maybe I wanted you to be safe, to be happy-"

"What makes you think I could be happy without you?!" Her voice raising again surprises you, draws more than a few stares this time.

"Come on, you don't mean that," you smile, wide and brittle and fake, not reaching your eyes. It comes unprompted, and you know Ortega can see right through it. "What the hell were we? What was _I_? You just liked having someone to kiss and touch wherever you wanted. How long before you got impatient that I wouldn't let you- you know-"

"What, fuck you? You think I was going to get bored of you because you weren't ready for that?" Ouch.

"A-am I wrong? Do you not have yet another dashing young stud on your arm? Another conquest?" Yes, just let out all your buried insecurities and anxieties, that's definitely not going to just make things worse now.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, you _are_ wrong."

"Eh?"

Ortega crosses her arms. "Did you really think I'd just move on and forget you? Find someone else as soon as you were apparently dead? Is that how you think of me?"

You can't answer. You can't let yourself think of the answer. Just a blank stare. But even that's a mistake, like everything you do, because Ortega notices, and something changes again in her face.

"I..." she starts again, her tone broken, "I genuinely cared about you. I thought you cared about me too."

Now you can't even muster the natural joy hearing such words should prompt in you. Now the roles are reversed. Your heart hates the fact that you've hurt her like this, it wants to comfort her, to reciprocate, but that was only ever a nice fantasy. It was a mistake to let these feelings come back. Even if Julia loved you back then, you could never truly be together.

You are nothing. Remember that.

Apparently the silence is too much for her, because now not only does Ortega continue on again, she changes the subject in the process. "Would you mind if I asked whether you were still a telepath?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unfortunately since its like, An Entire Scene, this is a bit of a longer one here. i hope it's enjoyable enough to sit through.
> 
> maybe i have been restricting myself too much bc im scared of writing something uninteresting
> 
> something you've read before in your own game
> 
> is it different enough? do you like seeing these emotions, this different scene?
> 
> anyways im a big fat lesbian


End file.
